A Schule Laddie’s Lament on the Lateness o’ the Season by J. Logie Robertson

The east wind’s whistlin’ cauld an’ shrill,
The snaw lies on the Lomont Hill;
It’s simmer i’ the almanack,
But when ‘ill simmer days be back?

There’s no’ a bud on tree or buss;
The craws are at a sair nonplus,—
Hoo can they big? hoo can they pair?
Wi’ them sae cauld, and wuds sae bare.

My faither canna saw his seed,—
The hauf o’ th’ laund’s to ploo, indeed;
The lambs are deein’, an’ the yowes
Are trauchled wanderin’ owre the knowes.

There’s no’ a swallow back as yet,
The robin doesna seek to flit;
There’s no’ a buckie, nor a bud,
On ony brae, in ony wud.

It’s no’ a time for barefit feet
When it may be on-ding o’ sleet.
The season’s broken a’ oor rules,—
It’s no’ the time o’ year o’ bools;

It’s no’ the time o’ year o’ peeries.
I think the year’s gane tapsalteeries!
The farmers may be bad, nae doot—
It pits hiz laddies sair aboot.